II
Cybele pursues across the plain
Attys, beautiful as Apollo.
Eros has smitten her to the heart, and for him,
O Totoi! but not him for her,
Instead of love, cruel god, wicked Eros,
Thou counsellest but hatred . . .
Across the meads, the vast distant plains,
Cybele chases Attys;
And because she adores the scorned,
She infuses into his veins
The great cold breath, the breath of death.
O dolorous, sweet Desire!
“Eros!
Eros!”
Shrill wailings poured from the flutes.